


don't tame your d(a)emons

by dexstarr



Category: His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: F/F, Maryisa, POV Second Person, Pre-Femslash, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:47:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28822449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dexstarr/pseuds/dexstarr
Summary: It hurts every time she leaves you.It hurts even more to be left alone in this strange world.=Or: what did the Golden Monkey think and do when Marisa left him behind to meet with Dr Malone?
Relationships: Marisa Coulter/Mary Malone
Comments: 3
Kudos: 42





	don't tame your d(a)emons

**Author's Note:**

> _His Dark Materials_ is not mine and no profit is made from this work.
> 
> Title inspired by "Arsonist's Lullaby" by Hozier. Quotes from S2E5: The Scholar. 
> 
> Thanks to V, who pulled me into this fandom.

She’s good with the car. She never drives at home, but here she slides into the driver’s seat, even finding the right button to move the seat forward and the right button to adjust the mirrors. 

No surprise.

She’s good at so many things. 

Including leaving you.

It’s so easy for her to drive away from you. The window glass is cool on your fur, dulling some of the pain already building as the car speeds away. Round the hedges and out of your sight. 

Fingers gripping the trim round the window, you pull yourself up the glass pane. As if looking from the top half will make it possible to see her. 

She’s gone.

It _hurts._

Every time.

Abandoning the window, you curl up on the bed. Close to but not touching her clothing—she hates when you shed on her attire. The blazer and skirt still smell of your world. 

Of her. 

You inhale her scent with every breath. The jasmine and orange blend of her perfume undercut with the metallic edge of her ever-present anger. 

Her scent and the sting of your own claws keeps you from panicking. At home, it’s easier to be apart. She designed her home for it. The air vents connecting every room. For you to spy and guard her whilst she sleeps. 

But here, in this strange world, you’re _alone._ On the drive here, you saw dozens and dozens of people without daemons. How unsettling! 

She left you—

alone.

The separation hurts in a way it wouldn’t at home. Adding to the yawning gulf building inside you. Cries build behind your fangs, and your jaw hurts from holding back all noise. 

(You both learned to endure pain without making a sound.)

Must be silent. No weakness. 

must

be

silent

no

weakness

must

be

_Can I help you?_  
_Yes. Mrs Malone?_  
_Doctor._  


A jolt of surprise smacks against your ribcage, jerking you right out of the mantra. 

Surprise is unfamiliar—it’s not often someone surprises her. Not with the way she (and you) scheme and plan. Threading webs and building traps to control everyone else. 

But … in this strange world … there is plenty to surprise both of you. 

If not for the strange seatbelt in the car, your face would have been plastered to the window. Watching the daemon-less people. The cars that whizzed faster than airships. The melange of new scents wafting towards your nose, barely sampled before entrapment in the car.

  
_What ideas are those?_  
_Well, about the morality of dark matter, or um, what did she call it? Dust._

Panic lodges in your throat, making it hard to breathe. A lump you can’t swallow. 

Tears sting behind your eyes. You can’t cry but she can. You know what tears feel like, held at bay with supreme effort of her will. 

What is making _her_ panic?! 

If only you were with her. Bolstering her fortitude with your presence. Waiting to protect, to attack, if she were to give you the slightest nod. 

(you want to listen, too. you won’t lie. you _need_ to know what is hurting her. so you can find whatever information she needs to make it stop.)

The distance is making whatever she’s doing even harder to bear. 

For you.

And for her.

  
_Tell me about your work. I have a million questions. What was your doctorate in? Have you published any papers I might recognise, or …?_  


**_Rage._**

An arrow of pure, lucent rage. Piercing your chest. Ripping a hole in your heart. Nauseating pain pours into the jagged hole, magnified by the separation from your human. 

A low, unending snarl fills your ears. You clap your hands over your ears, but the growl doesn’t stop. 

_You_ are snarling. 

Growling. 

Hissing. 

If only you could snarl at Malone. Show your fangs. Scare the woman into silence so she quits upsetting her. 

Flinging yourself off the bed and across the room, you wrench open the door. Escaping will be worth the punishment. 

She needs you—

and she’s coming closer. 

Coming back to you.

You creep down the stairs, keeping to the shadows. He can’t see or hear you. He doesn’t need to know she’s close.

You know she will need a moment. To compose herself. To pull her defences into place. She won’t let him see whatever upset her. 

The pain fades to a bearable level as the car pulls into the drive, and fades entirely with the stab of her heels on the entryway floor. You scan her for obvious injuries, but of course there aren’t any. 

Her anguish was entirely emotional. Borne of some great upheaval—even greater than learning of this world, or that he has her daughter. 

The worst sort of pain. Harder to endure and forget than fleeting physical hurt. 

Your squeak has an inquisitive note, trying to pull her attention from the mirror. She feels somewhat calmer and stronger now, but you still need clues. 

Her control is too good to give much away. 

She looks at you, face composed, but you sense the lingering rage underneath the forced calm. 

You want to shy backwards, in case she kicks you to lessen that rage. But you hold yourself mostly still. A little cruelty for her composure—you can bear that. 

She doesn’t, striding past you instead. You follow at the appropriate distance, only creeping closer at her question about drinks. There’s a clue for you. 

You feel her fury like it's your own, crowding your throat and sickening your stomach again. But you refuse to give into it this time. She is close enough that you can support her, and you will. 

You will add to her strength. 

“What did Malone say to upset you so much?” 

You hate the man—you can smell it on him, how much he wants her—but right then, you could thank the Authority. 

You wish you could move closer, to give even more support. Maybe perch on the edge of the couch, your paw a whisper from her legs. But you don’t. 

Never show weakness in front of others. 

Never. 

“Do you know who I could have been in this world?” 

The arrow of rage pierces you again, nearly stealing your breath. Her fury is far stronger than before … it should be muted now that you are close to each other. 

_… a woman called Malone …_

_… she runs a small department …_

_… academia works a little differently here …_

Realisation dawns. 

It wasn’t the distance that made the bolt so powerful to begin with. 

She is envious of Malone. 

She wants what Malone has in this world. A degree and papers in her name. Power and control in her own right. But most of all: to be respected for her _intelligence._

She wants this woman in a way she hasn’t wanted anyone since Asriel. 

And she will have her. 

You will make sure of it.

**Author's Note:**

> "They shared 5 minutes of onscreen time" is very much my femslash brand. The scene in Mary's office (and the wonderful fan art) was enough to hook me into watching the whole show. Now I'm on the "a family is two lesbians and a monkey" train. 
> 
> Come visit me on [tumblr!](https://galacticcoyote.tumblr.com/)


End file.
